Hmm. Possessive, no?
Nairobia was no man’s possession. But she would allow him a night of fantasy. Give him the illusion of being in control. She adored men who dared to take charge.
By the time Meek Mill’s “All Eyes On You” started playing, Nairobia had learned that her mystery man was single—for the moment (whatever that meant)—and staying in Vegas for the week with his peoples. He claimed—Nairobia was used to men claiming a lot of things to only later find it to be untrue—to own several businesses in and around New York and New Jersey with an uncle.
“Tell me, my love. Is your uncle as delicious-looking as you?”
He laughed. “Nah, nah. But he got mad swag, though. And he pulls more pussy than me.” He laughed again. Truth was his uncle had the face of a gorilla and a cock the size of a horse’s. And the panty-sniffing freak could be ruthless and dangerous when crossed.
Mystery Man pulled her in closer. “Why, you tryna meet him?”
Nairobia looked into his eyes, and imagined him fucking her, fast and hard, until she exploded her cunt juices all over his cock. She was so not interested in meeting an uncle who did not look like him. Who would most likely not wet her kut the way he had done.
“No, my darling.”
He smiled. “Cool. ’Cause I ain’t tryna share you. Not tonight.”
“Hmm. Who are you here with tonight?” she asked, ignoring his last remark of not wanting to share her. As if he had a say. She wondered why a man as sexy as him would be single. Or was he only single while in Sin City?
Not that it mattered. She’d flirt with him. And even arouse him. But she had no intentions of pleasing him. True, she’d been a porn star, and she loved to fuck. But her kut was the crème de la crème. She gave a man her cunt when it needed feeding. And hers was still full from Josiah.
But she’d happily spread her thighs and welcome his warm tongue inside her slit and his beautiful lips on her clit. She swallowed back her lusty thoughts and blinked him in, admiring the way his body moved. He moved his hips like a man who knew how to stroke a pussy.
“I’m here with my peoples,” he finally said, moving in close. “And you?”
“With you for now,” she said saucily.
He smiled. “Nice. I dig that.” He whispered in her ear. “Now what about later? You still tryna be with me then?”
“Maybe. Maybe not,” is all she said.
“Oh, aiight. It’s all love, baby. I can hold out until it’s a yes.”
Nairobia was pure temptation. And he’d been eyeing her fine ass the whole night, from the moment she’d stepped through the club’s door. In fact, he’d come to the event in hopes of seeing her. Yeah, he knew who she was. Who didn’t? She was sexy as fuck. A freak. And if he had his way, he’d have her in a dark corner somewhere with his hard-ass dick in her. But tonight he was being a gentleman, hard motherfucking dick and all.
With his body practically glued to hers, his straining erection throbbed in his pants, and Nairobia imagined there being a dampened spot of pre-cum in his underwear.
She draped her arms around his neck and looked him in the eyes, letting him know with her body that she knew exactly how aroused he was. He felt her skin heat against him, and groaned inwardly. He knew she was bad as fuck, but God, this was too good to be true. To have her in his arms, up close and personal, was more than a wet dream. It was a potential fuckfest, and a potential disaster in his underwear if she didn’t stop grinding her pussy up on his dick. He’d never come in his pants by simply dancing with someone. But, the way Nairobia’s sexual heat was warming his dick, tonight would be the night his cock creamed in his drawers.
He closed his eyes and inhaled sharply, sucking in the smell of her as he rubbed his hand up and down her back. Usher’s “Superstar” started playing, and Nairobia spun out of his embrace, then raised her hands up over head, seductively dancing to the beat.
Mystery Man whispered into her ear over the music, “You know you got my dick hard, right?” He pressed his hips into her and ground himself on her ass as their hips moved in sync. Nothing more needed to be said. They danced as if they were the only two on the floor, oblivious to the clicking cameras.
Six songs later, Mystery Man’s cell phone buzzed in his suit jacket pocket. He pulled it out, and glanced at the screen, before finally letting Nairobia go. “Damn, Ma. Hate to cut this short, but I gotta roll.”
He tried to adjust himself, but the bulge in his designer pants was too thick to hide. Nairobia smiled to herself. She was tempted to rub her hand over the front of his zipper, but decided it would be in poor taste. So she murmured near his ear, “Mijn kut huilt te voelen van je dikke lul.” My cunt weeps to feel your fat dick.